


I Believe You Call It 'Love'

by Dixie



Category: Fringe
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-28
Updated: 2012-12-28
Packaged: 2017-11-22 18:17:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/612777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dixie/pseuds/Dixie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Missing scene between 5.08 & 5.09, or Peter and Olivia get their groove back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Believe You Call It 'Love'

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks, as always, to oconnellaboo for her excellent beta work, and for suggesting the title. You're the best, kiddo!

She wasn’t sure how long they stayed on the roof… long enough for the crowds on the sidewalk to disperse, for the dark to settle in and the few working streetlights to cast dim halos on the empty streets. Long enough for the rain to start, stop, and start again, til they were soaked and shivering.

She would sit there forever, though, if that’s what Peter needed. After he’d pulled out the tech, he buried his head in her shoulder, trembling with pain. She worried that he might be getting shocky; she couldn’t tell how much blood he lost, especially after the rain started again.

She rubbed his back, stroked the back of his head above the ugly gash, murmuring to him as he took deep, shuddering breaths. His hair was longer (where does a fugitive get a haircut, she wondered), but the thick curls she remembered seemed sparser…

“Oh, Peter… my beautiful, stubborn man,” she thought as she pulled him closer. He wrapped his arms around her waist, but never lifted his head. She could feel his body shake as he sobbed, his grief as wrenching as it was the day in the warehouse. It was as if all the suppressed emotions since then were released, pouring from him like water from a broken levy.

It wasn’t until the rain stopped… had been stopped for a while… that she realized her face was wet with tears as well. She leaned her forehead against his shoulder; in her husband’s embrace, she mourned her daughter with him for the first time since they left Etta’s apartment.

She wasn’t sure how long they sat there…

 

It wasn’t just the pain in his neck of two deep cuts, one over the other, or the stabbing pain in his head. It was that gaping wound in his chest, where his heart used to be… the pain that had gone away as the tech had taken hold in his brain, erasing the hurt of losing Etta, of being estranged from Olivia, of seeing Walter tremble with the exertion of trying to remember things that Windmark had taken away from him. The pain of losing all the things that Windmark had taken away from them.

The only things that kept him from collapsing at Olivia’s feet were the images and emotions he’d read from her, strong enough to move him to dig out the tech, and Olivia herself. She WAS always the strong one, had always been the stronger of the two of them although she never knew it herself.

He kept turning over those images in his mind, one by one. Pulling her out of that damn tank, kissing her in the bar across from the Rosencrantz… and later that night, when he knew she had completely forgiven him, when she took his hand and led him from the kitchen of the house he’d shared with Walter all those years ago.

Along with the images flashing through her mind, and now his, he was battered by her emotions… the excitement and anticipation she felt when she first saw him on their “date” after the trip to Jacksonville, and the terror and utter dismay that overcame her when she saw him glimmer. The relief and the joy when she held Etta in her arms for the first time in 20 years. He saw the love she had for him over and over… when he was in the WaveSynch machine, when she told him she was pregnant, when she ran to him in the street outside her apartment after he’d almost left her.

As he begin to feel her emotions, rather than just watching them as her memories scrolled through his mind, other images began to creep in. Holding Walter after Newton tried to poison him, realizing how much he loved his father… The dreams he had, himself, Walter, Olivia… his family.

His family… Etta, on the train, looking up at him with that same shy, persuasive look that Olivia had. “Do you know me?” He could almost feel her arms around him, feel her smile that lit up his day just like it had when she was three. Etta, on the floor of the warehouse, her life trickling out of her… and her last thoughts were of them, that last perfect day in the park. Their love for her was the last thing she knew.

And it was all too much for him to bear, but she was there, whispering in his ear. She loved him, she needed him, she wouldn’t let him slip away. He let the emotions wash over him, the good and the bad, knowing that she wouldn’t let him go.

 

He was exhausted when they finally crept back into the lab. Above all else, he wanted to avoid Walter… just for a while. He knew Walter would fuss, would be all over him, and he just wanted to lie down, to pillow his head against Olivia’s shoulder and wrap his arms around her and close his eyes… just for a while.

She tugged him into the room where she’d been sleeping while he was away. Two cots at right angles, worn sheets and blankets… he had no idea where they found all these things.

“Sit,” she commanded in a whisper as she pushed him down. She left the room and Peter closed his eyes. He didn’t open them again until he felt her pulling his shirt up, easing it over his head. She had a small first aid kit spread open on the cot beside him: antiseptic, cotton balls, band-aids.

“I’m not Walter…” she told him softly as she dabbed at the blood that had crusted at the site of the incision… the incisions.

“That’s ok, I don’t need Walter right now,” he replied, and leaned his head against her torso, resting his forehead between her breasts. He grasped her hips and squeezed as the antiseptic stung the open wound.

She stopped her work, and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. “Peter, I’m sorry…”

“S’ok, Livia, I’m ok,” he mumbled into her shirt.

He winced as she continued, but soon the wound was cleaned and bandaged to her satisfaction. She smoothed his hair and studied his face as he gazed up at her.

“What’s wrong?” She could see pain in his eyes, in the stiltedness of his movements.

“Headache…” He closed his eyes again and shook his head ever so gently. “I’ll be ok… just need to lie down.”

“I’ll find something for you.”

While Olivia went in search of drugs, he eased off his boots and jeans. His clothes were sodden and he was too tired to search for dry ones. Every movement seems to send jagged bolts through his skull. As he heard her footsteps approaching their room, he looked up. His vision blurred; everything still had a blue tint, but he only had flashes of the time lines that he’d so rapidly grown accustomed to seeing.

Olivia held out a cup of water and dropped four red and blue capsules into his palm.

“Extra strength Tylenol,” she volunteered. “I think they’re expired.”

Peter raised his head to look at her and she quirked her mouth in that funny way she always did when making a joke. The look he loved so much.

And then the stabbing pain returned and he dropped his head.

“Peter, what’s wrong? What is it?”

He groaned and reached for the cup, swallowing all four capsules at once. “Just a twinge… it’s ok, Liv. I’m ok now.”

He didn’t have to look – he could tell by her murmured ‘mmm-hmm” that she didn’t really believe him. But that’s the way they’d always been; they were always ‘fine’, never admitting what hurt. Until Etta died… and Olivia cried in his arms.

The pain of that memory, of holding her while she fell apart, of feeling the loss of his daughter, their daughter, all over again, seemed to intensify the throbbing in his head, and he moaned involuntarily.

“Peter, lie down.”

He stretched out on the cot, not bothering with the blankets. When Olivia turned towards the door, he called to her in a low, raspy voice. “Stay.”

He was surprised when she didn’t turn around, and even more surprised when she locked the door before returning to his side.

He chuckled, and in a voice still hoarse from exhaustion and pain, said, “Just couldn’t resist my charms any longer, sweetheart?”

“Mmm-hmmm,” was her only reply as she sat on the edge of his cot and gently stroked the side of his face and carded her fingers through his hair. They sat in silence for long minutes, until Peter shivered.

“C’mon, under the covers,” she said, and he stood wearily as she pulled back the blanket and sheet. “I can find you another blanket if you – “

“No, just stay with me. Keep me warm,” he said sleepily as he scooted to the far edge of the cot to make room for her.

“I’ll be right there,” she murmured. He closed his eyes, but he could hear her pulling clothes out of the duffel bag stowed under her cot, kicking her boots off, sighing as she peeled off her jeans, as wet as his had been. He heard the soft rustle of fabric as she slipped on clothes to sleep in, then her feet padding on the hard floor and the creak of the cot as it protested another body in a space barely enough for one.

 

They’d gradually been getting closer, she and Peter. He gave her space, let her take the lead… always had. He’d always known she needed a little more time, that her feelings ran deep and it was hard for her to open up, even to the ones she held most closely. So he hadn’t pushed now, 20 years or two months or however long it had been since Etta disappeared and their marriage had disappeared along with her.

She knew he was trying… before Etta died and his path led him away from her again. The few moments they’d had to talk, the way he looked at her when he thought no one else would notice, the subtle contact just like he used to do early on in their relationship. And the wedding band he wore on a thin leather cord. At first he’d kept it hidden, always under his shirt. She didn’t notice it at first, until she saw him touch it as a talisman, over and over many times every day.

And then he stopped hiding it. She wasn’t sure what changed; maybe he was too distracted to realize it lay outside his t-shirt. He still touched it often, usually when he was thinking, or talking to Etta. She’d breathed a sigh of relief earlier, on the roof, when she saw the thin brown cord still around his neck. At least he was holding on to a piece of them, a piece of the life they’d shared before he’d traded emotions for revenge.

She saw it again, as she cleaned the gash on his neck. A plain silver band, close to his heart. She swallowed, thinking of her own matching band. I had to leave it, she reminded herself, I couldn’t take the risk. It’s still there. It’s still there.

As she stretched out beside him, she saw it again. As she settled herself on the narrow cot, Peter extended his arm and she snuggled against him. She touched the ring gingerly. “You still have it,” she whispered.

“Always, Livia,” he replied, his voice heavy. “Never gave up on us,” he mumbled, and drew her closer. She wrapped her hand around it and rested her head on his bare chest.

 

He leaned his cheek against her head, and breathed her in. She was warm, and he slid his hand under her shirt to press his fingers against her back. She’d always been slender, but now she was wiry, lean, taut under his fingertips. He stroked her shoulder blades, just enjoying the feel of her skin under his fingers again. Too long, too long… he missed her, missed this.

All he wanted was to feel her next to him again, but when she sighed into his chest and slipped her leg between his, he wanted, he wanted… He didn’t know what he wanted. He wanted to feel the way he did before the amber, before the Observers, when the biggest disagreement they had was who had to talk Etta into the bathtub. He wanted to feel the way he did when they woke up together every morning and he watched a smile grow on her lips because of his bed head, caused in no small part from her fingers tangled in his hair from their lovemaking. He wanted to look at her, and not see disappointment, or worry, or the sadness he’d seen in her eyes for far too long.

He just wanted… her. Them.

He eased his hand from underneath her shirt and stroked her cheek with his thumb, mindful of the bruises and scratches. When she snuggled closer to him, he was encouraged, and tilted her head up to his.

She started to speak, but he covered her lips with his own, and kissed her the way he’d wanted to ever since they pulled her out of the amber, feeling her relax into him.

When he finally pulled away to take a breath, she started again. “Peter…”

He rolled them until he was looking down at her, propped up on his elbows and nestled between her legs. He buried his face in her neck, nuzzling her, enjoying the feel of her again. Even before they were ambered, it had been too long since he’d done this. There were too many nights of seeing only her back, if he slept in bed with her at all.

She loved him. She told him over and over; it was the only thing he remembered after he’d pulled the tech out of his neck. Just her quiet voice telling him that, and her arms around him, holding him as he fell apart in her arms.

“Peter, are you sure you feel like…” she whispered hesitantly.

He lowered his body against hers; he knew she could feel his cock pressed against her through the thin sleeping pants she’d changed into earlier. “Livia, I need…. I need you. I need to feel you. I need to feel…”

Moments later, there was a small pile of clothes next to the cot and he was moving over her again, brushing his lips over her bare shoulders, ghosting his free hand over the swell of her breast, the curve of her hip, relearning the body he’d once known as well as his own.

They moved carefully, cautious of the bruises and cuts that covered both of them from the last few days. Peter braced himself on his arms again and nuzzled her left cheek, the one without the cut. He gazed at her, waiting for the answer to a wordless question; her response was to pull his head to hers, ever so gently, and to whisper “I love you,” before kissing him softly, sweetly, as he moved into her.

As they rocked back and forth slowly, Peter felt pressure building behind his eyes. He leaned his forehead against Olivia’s shoulder.

“Are you ok?” she murmured, rubbing gentle circles across his back. “Do you need to stop?”

“Are you crazy?” He lifted his head and smirked at her. “I’ve waited 20 years to get laid and you want me to stop now?”

“Oh, Peter….” she began to laugh, but he smothered it with another slow, deep kiss as he began to move again, the muscles in his back tensing under her fingertips.

 

She closed her eyes, relishing the feel of his breath against her neck and the weight of his body over hers. Too long, she thought, it’s been too long since either of them had slowed down enough to feel anything. She began to focus on every sensation, trying to block the din of her racing mind.

She tried to take a deep breath, but it turned into a gasp as Peter nibbled the spot under her ear that always melted her. His fingers stroked her cheek as he whispered, “My Livia. My wife,” with such emotion in his voice that she felt tears welling in her eyes.

“Peter, I love you,” she whispered as she tightened her embrace. “Don’t leave me, Peter. Please don’t leave me again.”

His only response was to bury his face in her shoulder. She could feel him panting against her as he became more deliberate in his movements, each stroke overwhelming her with his intensity. She moved with him, keeping his slow, steady rhythm, losing herself to the feel of his body against hers, in hers; she had missed this more than she realized.

 

The pain behind his eyes had increased; the pressure was almost unbearable, but the need to reconnect with Olivia was too strong. The warmth of her body surrounded him and eased the chill he’d felt after sitting on the rooftop in the rain.

He moved slowly, as much to minimize the pain as to savor her closeness. God, he’d missed her, he’d missed everything their lovemaking represented to him. It grounded him, reminded him he was home, he was loved, he was wanted, he was real.

He felt her body respond to him as she wrapped her arms around him; he knew, he remembered what she sounded like, what she felt like as she drew closer to her climax. His head was pounding now and his eyesight was blue-tinted and blurry, but he wouldn’t stop now. He needed…. He needed…

Olivia bit his shoulder to keep from crying out, and her fingernails left crescents on his back, but he was unaware of anything but the way she felt wrapped around him and the way she said his name with a sigh. As he came, he felt a strange sensation in his head, almost like a balloon popping, and as his orgasm spiraled to a close, the pressure in his head gradually decreased until it was almost gone.

He felt Olivia’s hands on his cheeks and opened his eyes. Gazing down at her, he saw her face wet with tears even as she was wiping away his own.

“Livia… are you ok?” His voice was raspy and low pitched.

“Yeah… yeah, I’m good. I missed you, Peter. I missed us.”

He rolled on his side, and slid his right arm around her. Kissing her forehead, he said “I missed you, too, sweetheart.”

She smiled at the nickname he’d given her all those years and what seemed like another lifetime away from them. “Call me that again, I’d really like that,” she whispered, but the curve of her lips belied the sardonic tone she tried to recreate.

 

Olivia studied his face as they made themselves comfortable in the narrow cot. Peter still showed traces of pain and exhaustion from the last few days, but there was also a sense of calm about him that she hadn’t seen in him since that day in the warehouse. She smoothed the damp curls away from his face, then ran her fingers over the leather cord that held his ring and sighed.

“I miss mine,” she whispered sadly. “I left it in my jewelry box at home before I went to New York.” She rubbed her thumb over the silver circle that had meant so much when she slipped it on his finger.

“I know,” Peter replied gently.

Olivia gave him a questioning look.

“Etta found it. When she found the bullet.” He covered her hand with his own. “She gave it to me and asked me why we weren’t wearing them.” He smiled, remembering the conversation. “She has your interrogation style – direct and persistent.”

“And?”

“I told her when we lost her, we lost who we were.” His smile became a little more wistful. “We lost our way.”

“Peter…. we’ll find our way back. We ARE finding our way back…. Aren’t we?”

He looked at her for a long moment, searching her face. She smiled up at him, biting her lip. With that familiar gesture, Peter seemed to find what he was looking for, and pulled her closer for a kiss.

He eased out of bed, muscles protesting almost as strongly as the springs in the cot. His backpack was under the other cot and he pulled it out, digging into an inside pocket until he found what he wanted, a plain band that resembled the silver one hanging from the cord around his neck.

He sat down on the narrow cot, turning to face Olivia. With a bemused smile, he held out his left hand and asked “Is this what you’re looking for?” as he opened his hand to reveal her wedding band.

“Oh, Peter, I thought ...” Her voice caught in her throat. She sat up and swiped the back of her hand across her face. Peter thought she’d never been more beautiful to him. “Can we start over?”

He reached for her left hand; holding it gently, he rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand. “I don’t want to start over,” he said with a small smile. “Too many things I didn’t want to do the first time. I sure don’t want to do them twice. Let’s start again.”

He searched her face, looking for any sign of disagreement. Finding none, he slid the ring on her finger, then raised her hand and brushed his lips against her fingers. “I love you, Olivia Dunham. My wife…”

She cupped his face, smiling at the feel of the stubble against her palm. She slid her fingers under the cord around his neck, and he tilted his head down so she could pull it over his head. She smiled at him softly as she untied the cord.

“This gave me hope,” she whispered, holding the cord in one hand and the ring in the other. “Every time I saw it around your neck, the fact it was still there… I knew you hadn’t given up on me.” She slipped the ring on his hand as a single tear slid down her cheek.

He looked down at his finger, then pulled Olivia into an embrace. They sat quietly, gently swaying, until Olivia shivered and Peter joined her under the blanket again. He gave her a sleepy grin as he tucked away strands of hair that had come loose from her ponytail, careful not to graze the cut on her cheek.

“You should let me stitch that up for you, or Walter,” he murmured. “Don’t need you to end up looking like me.”

“Tomorrow. You may want a distraction once he knows you’re back.”

“Hmmm.” As much as he fought it, he felt sleep overtake him for the first time in days.

 

He awoke a few hours later, his head pounding again. He slipped out of bed, careful not to wake Olivia. He padded over to the door and unlocked it; if Walter decided to wander around again, Peter wanted to hear it.

He pulled boxers from his duffle bag and slipped them on before stretching out on the other cot. With his headache, he didn’t expect to sleep again, but he didn’t want to disturb Olivia with his tossing and turning. He rolled over and resigned himself to watching the clock tick away…


End file.
